


Body of Man TimeStamps

by Loracine



Series: Debts and Desperation [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bodyswap, Cunnilingus, Dean's POV, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fellatio, Gen, Homosexual Sex, Lesbian Sex, Mild Profanity, One Night Stand, Oneshot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Profanity, Sex Toys, girl!Dean, lust induced blasphemy, ménage à trois, you get the picture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3958516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any timestamps I write for Body of Man will be posted here, one per chapter.</p><p>Please refer to the WARNINGS I have placed on the summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SOB Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First timestamp for my Body of Man fic which picks up just after Dean first realizes something is not right.
> 
> WARNINGS: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of this as practice for the sequel I have planned. It took a long time to find Dean's voice. He fought me tooth and nail. Stubborn *grumble* obstinate *grumble* contrary Winchester. But would we have him any other way?

_There's a girl asleep in the front seat, one hand stretched behind her. Rhea was sprawled naked and face down in the back seat. She lifted her head and automatically regretted it. One hell of a hangover was bearing down on her. Perhaps mixing sedatives with grain alcohol may not have been the best idea. She laid her head on the vinyl and waited for the world to stop spinning. It took a moment for the drug to fully wear off. The headache became manageable, but her limbs felt heavy and weak even after she regained full use of them._

_Carefully she got up, this new body much larger and bulkier than she was used to, and untangled the grip on her arm one digit at a time. She smacked herself in the eye a couple times before she got a handle on the sheer size of Dean from the inside. His reach, for one, was fascinating and she even stubbed her toes a few times trying to get dressed. The man had seriously long legs making even the spacious backseat of her Challenger seem cramped. It only took a moment, though, to wiggle back into faded denim and plaid, buttoning up quickly and efficiently. She didn't even look back as she left Dean behind in favor of taking the driver's seat of his muscle car parked at the other end of the lot. Her plan hinged on her pursuers not being fooled by the switch. He should be safe enough where she left him._

_She cooed at the big black beast as she approached, admiring the obvious love that had seeped into the very metal of its bones. She nearly caressed the steering wheel as she slid into the car. She turned the key and the engine roared to life. She laughed at the leaping power beneath her at the touch of her foot. Oh, this was going to be fun._

Dean was grumpy, if grumpy meant homicidally pissed off and looking to cause trouble. The waitress was ignoring him. Sure, she brought his philly cheesesteak without delay and it tasted awesome. It was just the complete lack of good-natured flirting that he missed. And no, the idiot named Bill two booths away didn't count. The distinct shrinkage in the size of his mouth was also annoying. It was taking much longer to eat than he had expected and he was beginning to suspect that he wouldn't even be able to finish the entire sandwich.

He had spent most of the last hour searching for a '67 Chevy Impala, his black '67 Chevy Impala. Eventually he had been left staring forlornly at a greasy patch on the pavement where her block had sat just last night. It was almost as if he concentrated hard enough he could force her to materialize in front of him. That was when his current bad mood had surfaced, and stewed. He had wanted to destroy something, anything. For some reason hunger got him focused, gave him priorities, and he had ended up here chowing down on diner food rather than amassing another arsenal.

A sound disrupted his angry internal monologue. Dean looked up, impatiently pushing a cascade of brown hair out of his vision, and fastened eyes on a dirty looking waif of a girl coming through the diner's door. The cheerful bell jingled, but the lazy waitress didn't even pause in her crossword puzzle. The girl looked homeless, the kind of homeless that hadn't seen civilization in months. She walked with purpose, though, and sat down across from him. He stared.

"You are in a bloody awful bind," she announced.

He put the sandwich down and swallowed. "Excuse me?"

She stole some of his fries, her fingers quicker than his reflexes. "Stuck in the country's most wanted body right now and you don't even know it," she said conversationally and stole more fries.

"Christo."

She looked up, giggled, and stuffed more of his fries into her mouth.

Dean's anger evaporated with the emergence of this new threat. He doubted the butter knife had even a remote chance of being silver and his hand had found bare skin when it had automatically searched for his holy water flask. "Who are you," he asked. He tried to come across tough and ended up sounding rather cute.

"Door," she said before making a grab for the rest of his sandwich. She pointed at him, "But, you probably meant what, right?"

He ignored her subtle hinting. It didn't matter what she was right now. He was hardly equipped to handle it. "Is that a description or a title?"

She shrugged, "Alias, interpretation, sobriquet. Does it really matter." He opened his mouth. "Don't answer that. The thing is," she finished off what was left of his sandwich in two bites, "I intend to make sure you both survive the next few days."

He snatched the last fry before she could take it. "I have no idea what you are talking about," he stated.

"So," she scooped up the last of the ketchup on one finger, "you weren't a very fetching man last night?" She licked her fingers clean, ignoring the napkin in front of her.

"You know what's happened to me," he ventured. "What do you know?"

"I don't normally leave London Below, you know. But when I heard Magnus had died I figured I should check up on his niece. Quite surprised me to find you wearing her skin," she mused.

He left some money on the table and started walking out the door, almost thankful that the strange girl decided to follow him. Oddly enough no one seemed to notice. One woman even nearly walked into him on the way out of the door.

Door didn't stop talking. "You really shouldn't leave her alone," she said.

"Who. Rhea," he asked. It wasn't like he intended to let the woman just wander around. If he was lucky she hadn't turned off the GPS on the phone in his jacket pocket.

"They are tracking Rhea and not her body," she said as she pointed at him. "This might help you do the same," she held out a piece of paper.

He looked down and took it. "What am I supposed to do with this," he asked as he read the cryptic words. When he looked back up she was gone.

_There she was, his Baby. Sleek and safe without a scratch on her. Rhea had finished paying for the gas and was walking back. She settled herself back into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the highway. He got a good look at the mile marker sign as it passed and there was a flash of familiar green eyes in the rearview as she turned her head._

Dean smacked his head on the steering wheel and his eyes sought out the glowing numbers on the radio. Forty minutes. Something had startled him awake. His eyes felt gritty and swollen. Dean was used to running on next to no sleep. This overwhelming exhaustion was foreign to him and a nasty headache was hovering just to make things peachy. He really needed coffee, like right now. He didn't even remember stopping the car or falling asleep. One moment he had been driving and the next the car was pulled over on the side of the road and he was stretched out on the front seats smashing his forehead into the steering wheel.

He checked the display on the smartphone he had acquired yesterday to see that he had missed two calls. The phone in his jacket pocket was either off or out of juice because he was still getting nothing. The signal he had been following had been strong and steady until it suddenly disappeared. The phone in his hand started ringing again.

"Yeah," he answered.

A gruff voice stated, "Found your plate." He went on to quickly describe the last location and heading of the Impala's license plate. "As for your other problem. Have you found a hex bag?"

"No," he huffed.

"Then I suggest you go after the witch first and the car second," he replied.

Dean gritted his teeth, this man had never spoken to him before. Didn't know him. He had traded on his father's name and some half-assed story about a dead relative and the Winchesters coming to the rescue to get this much. "The bitch is in that car," he said carefully.

"Oh," he began. Then there was a long pause. "You know, I could send a hunter to help you out. He's a few hours out of the last confirmed location."

"No," he answered quickly. If the man figured out the big black car was an Impala he might connect way too many dots for comfort. "I've got it. Your man will just get in the way. I'll call you."

"Yeah. Ok. Take care of that husband of yours," and the man hung up.

Dean sighed in relief. His story about some rogue witch turning his husband into a golden retriever was thin at best. There was no way in frozen hell he was letting it get out that Dean had gotten up close and personal with the inconveniences of life, much less hunting, in the body of the fairer sex. He pushed the thought to the background as he checked the address given. He had been there before. There was an industrial park not far away. The ghost of a welder had been stirring up mostly harmless trouble for years until one day she killed seven people in one week.

He knew the area fairly well and was confident he could pick up her trail once he got there. He blasted some old school Metallica to pass the time and hit the gas. He'd find her one way or another. He would find her, put two silver plated holy water dipped bullets in her heart, and then salt and burn the bones just in case.

He was about a hundred miles into the drive when he got another call. He didn't even get a word in before the man started talking.

"I got a good view of the driver on a traffic cam," he started. "I ain't helpin' you hunt Dean fucking Winchester," he snarled. "Do you even have a husband?"

"Who," he asked dumbly. There was no way that idiot could have mistaken a petite woman for him. "What?"

"Dean Winchester. About six one, blonde hair, black Impala, nasty attitude. An' I got a real good look so don't even try to lie to me. That whole family's nuts an' I'm not getting in the middle of whatever this is," he continued.

"Hold on one damn minute," he started. "Was there a girl?"

"No. An' I ain't lookin again. You wanna hunt Winchester you do it without me. Don't call again," he ended and then hung up.

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear and just looked at it. Well, that had been enlightening. So, Rhea was walking around looking just like him. There were two possibilities. Neither of which he liked. One, whatever she had done had switched their appearances. Or two, she had somehow taken off with his body and left him unconscious in hers. 'Stuck in the country's most wanted body,' she had said. That Door chick. He was betting option two was the winner and he still hadn't found a hex bag.

His fingers strayed to the crumpled piece of paper in the ashtray. The countryside flew by at eighty miles an hour outside the window as he tapped the steering wheel with the little ball of dirty paper. He made a decision and smoothed it out, reading the note Door had given him. A sleeping potion. She had given him a sleeping potion and the ingredients were laughably simple and grocery store common. He balled it up again and tossed the paper into the backseat. No way was he doing some out of body experience without help on the instructions of whatever Door was. He'd just have to find another way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how did I do with the first test-run of my very own Dean? *cringe* Be gentle.
> 
> Also, Door was borrowed from Neil Gaiman's book _Neverwhere_.


	2. Body of Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What? Dean's a horndog. Admit it.
> 
> WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, lust induced blasphemy, profanity, lesbian sex, cunnilingus, homosexual sex, menage a trois, fellatio, one night stand, strap-on, sex toys, porn without plot, you get the picture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised this one quite a while ago, but my lesbo inspiration fairy decided to take a vacation and left me holding a bag of writer's bricks. Or something like that.

For once Dean hadn't found her in a bar, this leggy blonde currently smashing her probably not real tits against his own. She was the waitress at the steakhouse where he had eaten dinner. The steak had been acceptable and the place didn't even offer pie, but he had found something there that he wanted. She was about his current height without her heels, her hips slightly wider, her curves just a bit more curvier. She had said her name was Candy or Candace or Mindy. He wasn't sure he cared, not with her hand down the front of his shorts playing with bits of anatomy he hadn't experienced firsthand before. A little moan escaped his mouth when she found the right spot and gently stroked the tip of one finger across it.

Drops of rain fell on his hair, in his eyes. He was pressed up against the girl's truck, door handle digging between his shoulder blades. They hadn't even made it out of the parking lot. A sharp edge caught on bare flesh as they moved and he failed to stifle the gasp of pain. It felt like a line of fire had cut into his flesh, a sensation he was used to requiring much more stimulus to elicit.

Candy pulled back a little and looked at him with concern. "You want to do this in the truck or come back to my place," she asked.

He stepped forward and nibbled on her collarbone peeking just above her uniform shirt. "I'd like a bed. Give me some space to work," he hushed into her skin. He hadn't checked into a motel anyways. Maybe he'd get lucky and stay the whole night.

She smiled wide, "Oh honey, I think we are going to enjoy ourselves."

Stepping into the truck had been a humbling experience. He was convinced that in his actual body a single step up would have sufficed. He would have slid into the passenger seat like water, cool as a cucumber. As he was, it turned out to be a three step process, four if you count leaning his entire body out of the cab to grab the door and close it.

Good to her word, Cindy lived only two blocks behind the restaurant. Her truck rumbled into the parking lot of an old apartment complex that hadn't seen a fresh coat of paint in a good twenty years. The formerly bright beige had developed patches that looked dingy gray in the headlights. Her door was a cheery pink that had been obviously handpainted by an amateur, judging by the brush stroke pattern left in the finished product. It's stubborn refusal to give in to the glum attitude of the rest of the complex was just another part of the woman leading him through it. He had liked her almost as soon as she had opened her mouth to ask for his order. Her voice was honey smooth and the sort of no nonsense he could admire. She tempered her natural good looks with a sharp wit and his admiration of her had only increased when he figured out that she wasn't wearing one drop of make-up. He liked a woman that could be comfortable in her own skin. Besides, foundation tasted like shit.

Dean didn't even bother noticing which room they were in when she pushed him up against a wall and shoved her knee between his thighs. They hadn't gotten far. She rubbed at the juncture in a sinuous full-body wave that gradually brought her entire body into contact, pressing close. She hadn't said anything since leaving the steakhouse. He had watched her chew on pens, mouth out the words to a song on the radio, and even stick out her tongue when the lock was giving her trouble. Not one word.

"Where to," he asked in a breathy voice. The wall at his back felt cold, unyielding, and something within him gave. Arousal felt different now. Before it had been a white-hot burn, quick and mindblowing. What he was feeling now was something more akin to a slow and steady diesel fire.

She smirked and settled a hand on his neck, rubbing lightly at the dip in his clavicle. "That way," she replied, indicating the end of the hall with a jerk of her head.

He flipped them, settling his hips against the waitresses. "Tell me now if there is anything I can't do," he urged. She was soft beneath his hands, smooth and warm. He nibbled at her bottom lip and trailed a finger up her ribcage. She shivered.

She bit down lightly on his lower lip. "Anything."

The next half hour was a lazy blur of touching and tasting, pieces of clothing removed one at a time while lips and fingers explored each strip of exposed skin. Her bed was soft under his shoulders and his legs naturally fell open when he relaxed into it. The indescribable feeling of losing the underwire made him want to burn the cursed thing. What was even better was the heated look Sandy was giving him. Her eyes had traveled up and down his body pausing at the curve of his hip, the dip and swell of the lower abdomen giving way for the groin, the gentle arch of his feet. Her fingers lazily followed her hands until he was practically vibrating with impatience.

She leaned down over him and he expected her groin to line up with his. His past experiences were all wrong for the body he was in. Instead, she hovered over him. Lips met, hot breath mingled, tongues stroked and tingled. She placed one hand by his ear and the other between his legs. She teased along the sensitive flesh and in an impressive display of coordination she managed to lined up mouth, tits, and hand in one glorious overload of sensation that drove him ever closer to orgasm. He didn't even know how it hit him. One moment nearly everything below his waist was tingling and nearly numb, hot and pulsing, the next he was crying out in surprise, bucking off the bed. Like arousal, orgasm was fundamentally changed. Each contractile wave deep inside responded to Linda's coaxing, his entire body shivering and dancing helplessly to her tune. With one last nip of teeth along his collarbone she released him and he collapsed boneless and still twitching beneath her.

The moments after were all about skin contact and he soon found the slow burn building once more. This time she guided him on top of her. He was a quick learner and with only a few nudges and a quick technical explanation he was taking charge, driving them both back over the precipice. This time was fast and not as intense, but she didn't seem to mind.

After, Dean was limp, jelly on the bed, one leg hanging off at the knee and one arm in an oddly bent position. He had lain there once the aftershocks had released his muscles, like his strings had been cut. He couldn't bring himself to care. He was humming with exhaustion and contentment, a restless energy still forcing his eyes open for the next big event. Jenny was showing no signs of slowing down. She licked her lips and smirked as she left the bed. He struggled up onto his elbows and was relieved to see her only cross the room to a small box. He almost lost his nerve when she pulled out an assortment of silicone and jelly toys in various sizes and shapes. Adrenaline leant him a measure of strength, giving him a chance to escape. A Winchester never backs down, though.

She held up a massive purple dong nearly as big as her forearm, "What do you think, this one," she swapped it for its slightly smaller cousin, "or this one?"

He gave them a dubious look. "For what?"

"I want to fuck you," she replied as if it was the most logical explanation.

Silence.

She dumped a small pile of the toys onto the bed and crawled up next to him. She licked the tip of the smaller bright red plastic dick and waggled her eyebrows. "You gotta talk to me, darling, or this ain't goin' nowhere," she stated.

He was wide-eyed and a little scared. His face had gone slightly pale. He licked his lips nervously and decided to start with a little truth. "I've never tried it before," he blurted. Oh shit, that sounded like a sweet sixteen virgin on some sappy teen angst movie. Fucking estrogen.

"Dildos or toys in general," she pressed.

He shrugged, "I've used a slim butt plug and I never miss an opportunity to jack off." He really wanted to get the sharing and caring part over with. Whatever she could dish out he would have no trouble taking.

She pouted, "Oh you poor thing." She gently slid one spit-slicked finger along the outside of his pussy. The oversensitive flesh practically quivered. "Will you let me show you what you've been missing," she asked.

"Teach me, sensei," he purred and lifted up to latch his lips on her nipple, drawing the entire areola into his mouth and lathing the sensitive tip with his tongue.

Her hand clenched in his hair as she moaned. "Talented mouth," she breathed. "So, which one," she pressed as she pulled his mouth from her body. Apparently she was really serious about getting his opinion on the matter.

He could only nod at the smaller one. It still looked pretty big. Logically he knew his own natural cock was as big or bigger when fully erect, but the thought of that getting anywhere near him drove the point home. He actually had a spot on his body built specifically for penetration. And said orifice was fucking weeping right now at the sight of the toy she was caressing. He groaned. No one better find out about this, cause he had a sneaking suspicion this was actually going to be fun. His decision made, he gave her the suggestive leer he had practiced in the mirror, "You have no idea. The things I can do with this mouth," he mused.

She sat back in her heels. "Come on, tough girl. You don't get to come again unless its on my cock," she told him. She held up the bright red dildo and its matching red harness with a smirk.

Dean's eyes went wide but he nodded instead of running for the door. "Whatever you got, I can take," he replied. It sounded a  
little more confident than he was feeling, but he moved to help her into the contraption. He preferred active participation. Getting his hands on that monster before the main event might help his nerves.

She snapped into the harness like she wore the thing everyday and he slid a condom down its length, muting the angry color of the plastic. She then proceeded to take him apart without using the dildo at all. He was a sweaty, limp mess in under three minutes. Damn, she had skills. His ears were ringing, there was a strange tingling in his limbs, and he couldn't seem to dredge up the desire to abandon the floating headspace she had put him in. True to her the word, she hadn't let him come.

"You alive in there," he heard through the fog. Dean's mental facilities were finally coming back online.

He hummed in response.

She was licking the shell of his ear, sending ripples of muscle contractions along his body. It really wasn't helping his higher brain function. There seemed to be a direct connection between the skin just behind his ear and the small of his back. One puff of a slow, warm breath there caused a hot electric tingle where his spine dipped into ass. That tingle, given a little time, would spread and a sensation akin to getting licked right there on the hot button between his legs would burn through him. His clit would pulse all on its own and he had nearly come just from that and Mandy's warm weight.

He tensed when she rolled him beneath her and she stilled. She seemed to be considering something. "Do you want to ride me," she asked. Her hand ghosted along the side of his ass, leaving goosebumps and shivering pleasure in its wake. His tense body loosened at the realization that he could be in control.

She ended up propped on some pillows against the headboard in a sprawl, red dildo standing proudly from her groin now slick and waiting. Dean fumbled a little, unsure of how to proceed and hesitant to outright ask for directions. She patiently guided him through those first few inches until he felt the delicious stretch and eagerly took in the rest. His head fell back on his shoulders in a moan when he reached bottom.

Amy's soft hands traveled from their grip on his knees to rest on his waist, thumbs caressing. "That's it," she crooned. "Move when you are ready." She pushed her hips up just a little to emphasize and this time they both moaned.

Movement was slow at first as he adjusted, but he quickly got the hang of it. Rocking turned into a slow up and down glide which soon escalated into energetic bouncing as nerve endings lit up inside. That familiar pressure built, only adding on to the simmering burn from the denied orgasm earlier. He moved a hand to stroke his clit.

She batted his fingers away. "Easy there," she soothed and reached out to the pile of discarded toys.  
He nearly screamed in relief when a buzzing vibration was pressed against his clit and rubbed. Brandy bit lightly on one nipple and tapped the rosette muscle behind him as he exploded, shaking with the force of his orgasm. She drew it out, turning one orgasm into what felt like ten, or maybe just one really fucking long one. He keened when her finger on his ass was replaced with a slim lubed plug, shoved deep and fast. Her thrusts took over when he could no longer control his limbs enough to continue.

He was panting like a marathon runner as blackness claimed him.

_"So pretty," the woman in front of her mused._

_Her back was scraping on a rough wall again. Her head fell back on the chipped blue paint and a ragged moan left her throat, sounding low like roasted gravel. Her hips pushed forward into a hand and talented fingers as nails scratched across straining denim. A mouth brushed along the bare skin just above her waistband, nipping lightly at the small hairs below her navel. Another mouth tugged on an earlobe, breathing harshly and sending shockwaves of raised flesh along her spine. She vaguely noticed that she and Dean shared some of the same erogenous zones. Familiar places were lighting up with sensation as fingers ghosted by. The difference was, her knees weren't collapsing this time._

_"I'm going to make you feel good," the man promised._

_The warmth to her right shifted, pressing fully against her. His cheek was smooth and smelled of spicy saffron and earth. She turned her head and caught his lips in a kiss, ignoring the scrape of her moistened ear on the wall. He was shorter than her, but she managed without dislodging the woman working on her jeans. She was feeling languid tonight. There was an urgency on her groin that she felt nowhere else and that made it easy to ignore, to postpone._

_"But first, we need to take the edge off," his wife commented._

_The sound of her zipper being lowered was loud in the hushed silence of wet sounds and breathy moans. Moist heat surrounded her throbbing cock. She choked and her hips thrust forward helplessly. The sensation was overwhelming and entirely unlike what she was used to. Three hands kept her still, pressed against the wall. A fourth traveled up under her shirt, tracing the muscles it found. His hands were larger, the fingers thicker, and his callouses gave them a slightly rougher texture._

_He traced a scar that crossed the iliac crest from front to back, "I like a man that works for a living." She was being overwhelmed with pleasure and they had only just started._

_Silken strands of hair brushed her denim-clad thighs with each stroke of her mouth and the suction as she pulled back nearly made Rhea cross-eyed. Desperate to touch someone she yanked the husband's starched dress shirt open, sending buttons flying and revealing a lean runner's physique. The woman circled the base of her cock with one hand and applied pressure as she brought her grip towards her mouth, where she was licking the underside of the head like a lollipop. Rhea's shirt came off, up and over her head before she knew what had happened. She had the man's khakis open and his dick in her hand just as fast. She pumped slowly, feeling the hard length get ever harder, longer, thicker. He groaned and his hand went still on her pectoral. With her other hand she grabbed a bunch of long silken hair and forced the woman's mouth from her crotch. She let go with a pop and Rhea hissed as cold conditioned air bathed the sensitive head._

_She needed to assert some sort of control over the situation or she was going to come embarrassingly fast. She looked down. "Does your husband suck cock as well as you do," she asked, eyebrow raised._

_The woman nodded as best she could in the tight hold, "Even better."_

Dean's eyes opened quickly, his body tensing and his hand diving underneath the pillow for a knife that wasn't there. It took him a moment, looking up at the popcorn ceiling, to remember where he was and who he was with.

"I was wondering when you would wake up," a lazy voice crooned into his ear. "Ready for round two?"

"I've got to go," he said as he vaulted out of bed and yanked on clothing. "Where's my phone." His legs were jello beneath him and his arms weren't much better. He felt like he had gone ten rounds with a rugaru.

She just glared at him. "So it is fuck and run. I had thought you would at least wait until morning."

He finally wrestled into his clothing, putting his shirt on backward and deciding not to give a shit. He found his phone kicked underneath the dresser wrapped up in her underwear. "I have somewhere I have to be," he explained.

She plastered herself to his back as he opened the front door. "Just once more for luck," she asked. "Come on, baby, we are so very good together."

He turned around and kissed her. It was light and teasing. "Good bye," he replied.

Instead of throwing a fit she grinned, "Find me next time then, gorgeous."

The door closed behind him with a light thunk. He waited until he was back in the Charger before he dialed the number. This Rhea chick better have a damned good explanation for what he just saw.


	3. Next Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Chapters 3 and 4.
> 
> WARNINGS: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Door is borrowed from Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere". Ianua is latin for 'the door' but can also mean admittance, approach, prelude, beginning, entry or shut. Both Old Man and Ma'ii are names for the Navajo trickster god we know as Coyote. The title 'Next Death' refers to the fact that Coyote dies a lot in mythology and fiction. He just doesn't stay dead.

Door swirled the dregs of the hot chocolate around the bottom of the cup. "What is your angle here, Old Man," she asked. Last she knew she had fallen asleep in a cozy corner of London Below. The sky around her was varying shades of blues and purples and the sand beneath her feet was a startling blood red. She had no idea where she was or if she was even awake.

He cocked his head at an angle and she couldn't help but think of a dog trying to fit her human words into its own thought patterns. Perfect translation just wasn't possible and she was curious to know his unique interpretation of her words and body language. The being before her was not human, never had been. She could feel the 'otherness' of him and it made her skin crawl. He licked his lips. "I do not lie," he replied.

She drained her cup and when it lowered she found it filled once more. She was not surprised. Since becoming aware in this place it had never been empty, offering her a variety of beverages she dared not refuse, an indulgence she knew was for her benefit alone. Gods did not need to eat. "That is well known," she soothed even though that was a blatant lie.

He nodded. "Long ago when the rivers were new and the land was wild," he started. His voice had a cadence to it, reminding her of a shaman or mystic.

Door remained quiet in the pause. He would speak or not and she could do nothing but wait. She had no power here.

"When the people were few and the dangers many, the people became lost in the earth. Ma'ii was young and weak with no power over the earth. He sought help from the people of the sky and the rivers and the lakes. He went to the bear and the stag and was turned away from each. Only he who became ianua was willing. He pulled the people from the earth," he finally said. "Ma'ii has done much to repay the boon. This will be the last." He gestured and images shifted on the sand between them. She could tell she was witnessing a memory, dots of colored sand moving to recreate the events he was referring to. A small tribe of people was rapidly buried in a landslide at the base of a mountain. Only a few seconds later a hole opened up in the debris and the people emerged largely unharmed. Crying dirty children clung to their parents and every individual showed signs of minor damage, but they were alive.

His words were even more cryptic, and brief, than she had been expecting. The way he had been talking she had expected a long story complete with drums and a fire pit. Yet, despite her preconceptions, he had stuck to the basics. He owed a debt to this ianua and somehow he intended to pay it off now. That was all. She still had no clue how she fit into his plans or if he merely wanted to make sure she stayed out of his way. Her thoughts strayed to Richard and their children. She really hoped Richard hadn't discovered her missing yet, or ever. He must be going insane by now. He didn't have the skills to leave the house and their two sons were not old enough to help him.

Old Man's hand smeared the colorful grains and they melted into the rd background, disappearing completely. He grunted and the flashing began anew. This time the images were in perfect clarity, but moving too swiftly for her to make any sense of them. Gradually the flashing images slowed until she saw a pair undulating together. It became a single frame frozen in time. She had a clear view of their faces before the flickering resumed, the replay speeding up into a blur. The next frozen moment had the woman in the foreground and the man in the back seat, obviously unconscious. Streaks of light were stretched between them. They almost looked like the patterns sparklers would make in the night when waved swiftly enough. She nearly reached out to touch it in wonder.

Old Man took her hand instead, his thumb rubbing circles in her palm. "Close your eyes and understand, Child of Door," he instructed.

She obeyed. A sense of peace washed over her and she knew what she had to do. Those two must survive what was going to happen. There was no other choice. She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn't let her. Her voice halted in her throat.

"Your Richard Mayhew will never know of your absence," he assured her. He let her hand go and cleared the shapes left in the sand. "Ma'ii will help when possible. The rest is up to you."

Door didn't even have the chance to react before the scenery shifted around her and she was sitting crosslegged in a parking lot outside an American diner.

Old Man's voice floated on the wind, "See you at the next death, Child of Door."


End file.
